There’s a road in Wilton our kids used to call King Kong. The reason they called it King Kong was never explained. It was only later, after they had grown and told us stories about some of their adventures on it while they were still under the age when a person’s brain begins to add caution to the mix. It was then that the name began to make sense. Let me add some background before I explain the reason.
The road, now a wide, wooded track, has probably been unused for at least two centuries. I say “at least” since I don’t think even Google will be able to give me an approximate date for its demise as the main way of traveling to old Wilton Center. An 1858 map of Wilton indicates this road was still a main thoroughfare at that time. This is as close to a date for its continued existence that I can find. It was probably used for much longer, since this old road was the main way of traveling between Russell Hill Road and Wilton Center to
conduct town business or to attend school and church services. Another branch ran directly north of Russell Hill up to Beede Hill. For years, this second branch was probably used by students attending the new District One School House that had been built in 1843 to replace the original 1797 school building at the other end of the first branch.
What is known is the road was constructed sometime in the 1700s. People were able to cross the Souhegan River on a bridge constructed at this same time. In 1860 the Livermore Boxed Pony Truss Bridge was built as a replacement and is the only known remaining example of a boxed pony truss bridge in North America. Its construction made continuous access to the top of the hill to the north possible, via this old road, for those people traveling between Russell Hill and the, then, center of Wilton.
Several weeks ago, the Ledger-Transcript printed a photo of a marker that no one could identify. It‘s a marker that sits very near the junction where this old road joins Isaac Frye Highway. The marker identifies the spot where a group of Wilton citizens in 1830 erected a church that lasted for only 22 years before being removed. Instead, the congregation began holding services down the hill in the East Village when it was noted there was no church in this rapidly growing manufacturing center of town that also now had railroad service.
From this point, after taking a few steps north on Isaac Frye and then heading west, the road drops fairly steeply and takes a slight bend to the right where it again straightens, although the drop is still somewhat precarious. It never quite levels out, but you can take a breath and relax without scrambling to keep your footing, especially on snowy or icy days. When you look up to the north, east and west you realize you are in a bowl between two steep adjoining hillsides, but not yet at the bottom.
This path is surrounded by tall hardwood and pine trees, but recent storms have ravaged its valley, leaving their remains strewn across the road and landscape. It’s hard to keep up with the need to remove all the downed trees and a few still block easy travel.
The last drop to Route 101 is the steepest portion of the road and doesn’t stop descending until you are on the level with that highway, which is only about 10 feet to your left. In this day, with speeding cars, it all feels a little too close.
What I used to do when at this spot was to keep to my right and head back up the road that branched off uphill. This portion is equally steep and a bit treacherous with fallen tree limbs and snaggly rocks poking out of the soil where rivulets run after a heavy rain. It’s a good climb to Center Road, but it completes a large portion of the loop, if poison ivy or brambles haven’t overgrown the trail.* If you make it, all you do to complete the loop is to turn right and walk a little further uphill on Center Road to Isaac Frye, take another right, pass the Town Pound, Red House, Unitarian Church and Andy’s Summer Playhouse and just after the road begins its descent to 101, you are back where you started.
* I recently checked to find the beginning of the trail almost completely hidden behind brush and new and older growth saplings and trees.
So where did the name King Kong come from?
Just imagine three pre-teen and early-teen brothers on a chilly, winter day, egging each other on, probably with the encouragement of a few neighborhood age-mates, all armed with flat-bottomed sleds: Sleds they were supposed to use on Carnival Hill or other approved venues.
Even if they had stopped where the hill began to flatten out, it would have been a hair-raising ride. But when they didn’t stop and had to suddenly find a place to crash to keep themselves off Route 101, it was horrifying to imagine what could have happened. One or more of those rides was the reason this road became King Kong – meaning it was the ultimate in a fright-filled, dangerous, unpredictable, and challenging experience.
For decades, we had no idea where the name came from, and certainly had no idea when we sent them outside to play in the snow in the yard or in the woods, that they had taken their sleds from the barn to use on this hillside that adjoined our property. It was only after one of our sons told us, years later, how he had ended up in the middle of Route 101 on his sled. Previously, we thought the name King Kong was just something they had picked up somehow — rather like shouting “Marco” and “Polo” in the swimming pool. Foolish us.